Creative Writing: Awful Moody Me

I am in an awful mood today. And I know what to do, but I don’t want to.

I don’t want to let go of my frustration, I don’t want to release my anger. I hate being me, but I dig my heels so deep into me.

The night is falling outside, its darkness looming over me, finding its way inside of me. My chest is heavy. I hate the dark, but I don’t want to let it go. So I eat more of it. My unwillingness to choose light astounds me. It terrifies me to the core. 

I don’t want to be so very human. 

 

He turns the water on and lets it run until the temperature is just right, then fills the basin. He lets a few drops of essential oils fall into the water and they begin to dance at the surface while a sweet fragrance fills the room. His every move is intentional.

Next, he kneels before me and sets a fluffy towel on the ground.

“Let me wash your feet,” he simply says.

My filth fills me, and I can’t even lift my head to meet his eyes. 

“Allow me,” he says. He gently takes one of my feet and puts it in the warm water. He lets water seep into my crusty skin for a few seconds, then pulls the foot out and lays it on his knee. He squeezes the sponge out, then washes every inch of my dirty foot with meticulous tenderness. His touch is like a blanket, and the soiled water lands on his leg. 

“Please don’t,” I plead, humbled to the core. 

He wraps my foot into the fluffy towel and dries it, one toe at a time. It feels like a glove that travels up all the way to my heart, thawing out the icicles lodged in there. I notice that my cheeks are wet with tears.

“Look up,” he says.

I cannot. 

I feel his fingers lifting up my chin, and my heart beats so loudly that my chest feels like it’s about to explode. 

“Just a hiccup on the road,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “You know you are already clean.”

He takes my other foot and repeats the process. My tears flow freely now.

“Let me love you back to safety,” he says.

His words somehow give me freedom to accept the frailty of my humanness in all that it is. My uglies and all. My dependence on Him. I feel my harshness melting under the gentle pressure of His love. 

All will be well.

Please note: I reserve the right to delete comments that are offensive or off-topic.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

One thought on “Creative Writing: Awful Moody Me